Leviticus and the Butchery of Eid

The animals streamed into the capital in the days preceding Kurbani Eid. The basement of every apartment block became home to half a dozen or so offerings-to-be; mostly bulls, the occasional heifer and even a goat or two. Out in the streets pick-up trucks loaded with these same animals drove back and forth, delivering them to many homes across the city. Some cows were decked out in beautiful red garlands, hats and anklets. Some just sat and gazed into space, oblivious to the fate that awaited them.

These scenes brought to mind the words of Ezekiel 36:38, and I longed for the promise given in that verse to be applied to these people bedding down these hundreds of animals: “Then they will know that I am the Lord”.

As sacrificial beasts poured into the capital, inhabitants poured out. In the days preceding the first and main day of sacrifice, most people headed from the mega-city back to every corner of the land to be with their family and share in the celebrations. We too were not staying at home, but had accepted the invitation of Lukthin* and his wife Jasmine* to spend 6 days with them and their families in their hometown/villages about 4 hours’ drive from our city. We gladly accepted, wanting to learn more of local life, bolster our language learning, and strengthen our friendship with these folks.

Of course, it wasn’t really a 4 hour drive. Not at Eid time. Nope, as the driver’s Quranic amulet (to ward off the evil eye) hung before my eyes, still as anything, we waited. And waited. And waited. The trip eventually turned into a 14 hour journey. We were fortunate. Another family member of our hosts took 23 hours the day before on the same route. At one point our van didn’t move for almost 3 hours, so I got out into the blazing heat, far from the protective smog of the city, and walked along the road. People sat underneath giant trucks, or under the shade of the occasional copse of trees by the roadside, just waiting for the traffic to move again.

As I surveyed this great caravan of pilgrims, I thought of those pilgrims of old, in great caravans, traipsing their way up to Jerusalem. It was the opposite way of course, from the villages and towns up to the great city. No doubt people from all directions merging together into one great train of people heading for a destination together, just as we were. I thought of the Psalms they would have sung on that journey to pass the time. Starting with Psalm 120 and the longing for a permanent dwelling of peace. Slowly trudging on their arduous journey and finally lifting their eyes to see Jerusalem’s hills in the distance and bursting into delightful song that they could see the hills, and remember the Maker thereof, who was looking after them in the heat of the midday sun on this journey. Then what joy when they reached their destination, able to draw near to the house of God. To enter his presence. To survey that temple and remember the Lord’s work. To celebrate together with the other pilgrims in joyous companionship. “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I hope.” A drawing near to God’s presence, with the great throng, was the theme of these songs. It is after all, where the pilgrim’s hope truly lies.

Finally, we arrived, and after the usual overly-large dinner, we rested our weary heads.

We awoke reasonably early, quickly eating breakfast, as the day would be busy. I headed out into the morning sun with the family men and observed from the sidelines as they went to a local field to do their prayers in vast numbers. Dressed immaculately, carefully lined up, carefully bowing in unison.

As soon as the prayers were over, it was slaughter time. Imams in immaculate white clothing picked up their huge, newly sharpened knives, yet unstained with blood. A local family brought out their cow, laying it down on the ground and tying it firmly with ropes. This cow, like many others, did not initially put up a fight. It was not always the case though, as some tried to break free and took a long while to subdue. With five men kneeling on the docile beast, and many others looking on, the Imam reached down, muttered a short statement in Arabic, and slashed the cow across the throat. He stood back as the cow wheezed and gasped for breath and blood spurted from its severed artery. The Imam’s pure white robe was quickly stained with a deep red as the first blood shed soaked into the fabric. He had in fact missed some other blood vessels, prolonging the animal’s suffering, and had to go back for a second try. This time the blood flowed freely and soon the animal gave up its struggle and lay motionless. Life had left it. Death had come. And its blood pooled on the street.

Soon the streets ran red with blood, and the butchering began. The animals were skinned so that the skin could be sold for leather and the money donated to the poor. Butchers (well-paid on this day) went from house to house dividing the meat up, and placing it in three piles. One for the family, one for relatives, and one for the poor. The sacrifice had been made, now it was to be offered to many. And for days after, bits and pieces of leftover cow were seen lying in the street.

It was an incredibly impactful experience, watching sacrifice after sacrifice. As I’ve mentioned before, we in the West live such a sanitized existence, where our meat comes pre-packed and we don’t encounter death so much. In fact, we often try to hide it. And I do wonder how that affects our reading of the Biblical narrative at times. Taking a deep dive into Leviticus this year, observing Kurbani Eid brought it alive, witnessing the gore, the effort, the fear in the cow’s eyes, and especially the blood. So much blood.

But the saddest thing of all, was that there was no Kurban in these Kurbanis. What do I mean? Kurban is an Arabic word, which shares its root with Hebrew, often transliterated as Qorban. The word is translated in the Bible, and used by Muslims worldwide, as an alternate word for sacrifice, or offering. Yet at its root, this word means “nearness” or “to draw near”. And it’s an incredibly important word. In verse 2 of Leviticus chapter 1, this root is used 4 times. In one sense it could be translated as:

“When any of you draws near with a drawing near thing, you shall draw near with your drawing near thing of livestock from the herd or from the flock”.

4 times in one verse. 50 times in the first 5 chapters… you get the picture. People often label Leviticus with the word “holiness” or “law”. But in my opinion, Leviticus is first and foremost a book of invitation. Invitation to draw near.

God speaks to Moses from the tent, then afterwards will speak to him in the tent. He beckons him nigh.

Invitation comes. Draw near.

How can we draw near to this God? Provision comes. Here is what you draw near with.

How can we maintain our nearness once we have drawn near with the drawing near thing? Holiness comes.

This is a simple breakdown of Leviticus. But notice the description of Kurbani Eid above. It reverses the whole thing.

Holiness, outward conformity, perfect obedience to the law of Mecca is sought after. Then comes the Kurbani. Many don’t even know what Kurbani means in Arabic. They don’t know that the word means to draw near. And once they slaughter yet another animal, they hope that it is pleasing to Allah.**

Not only do many not understand the word kurban, the reality is that most do not realise that these thousands of animals will be slaughtered in vain, for there is no kurbani power in them. There is nothing to draw them near.

It was by means of a bloody, gory sacrifice, that God called the people to draw near. But those kurbanis always pointed forward to the final one. The death to end all deaths. The sacrifice to replace all sacrifices. The Kurbani of Kurbanis. The only One with the power to actually draw us near into God’s presence. The One who extends the offer of “come”, the One who is the provision given by which we can draw near. The only One who maintains our holiness by his Spirit, so that we may ever know his presence. This has a power that bulls and goats lying dead in the streets cannot provide.

“For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God.”

– 1 Peter 3:18

Please pray for the millions of Muslims around the world who have just partaken in Kurbani Eid. May they truly be drawn near to God by the ultimate Kurbani, Jesus Christ our Saviour. May they learn what it means to live as pilgrims, not of mega-cities to villages, but as those who are being drawn near. Near to the very dwelling place of God. May they forever live in holiness, because He has drawn them near.

*Name changed for security

**Please note, a common misconception by Western Christians is that Kurbani Eid is a sacrifice for the forgiveness of sins. It’s not. It’s more akin to the Peace/Shalom offering in Leviticus, something that is to bring into fellowship with other people, and thus be pleasing to God. Occasionally some Muslims do think that it is for forgiveness, but they are fewer, and they are technically incorrect.